Stay in Touch

Chapter 51

Martha twists her slender fingers as she paces back and forth in the great room of Rick's loft. "Darlings, the entire theater community is in a panic. We lost some of our brightest lights to HIV, and if some maniac is out there targeting gays, we could be facing another scourge. Katherine, have you heard if the authorities are any closer to catching this madman?"

Kate sighs and shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Martha, not a thing. Homeland security is playing this very close to the vest. Our patrol routes have been shifted to cover areas we suspect might be vulnerable, but we don't even know what we're looking for. It may not even be a man. It could be a woman or an organized group - anything."

As anger overcomes her, Martha's voice rises. "The theater owners are talking about having armed guards check bags and purses and possibly even search patrons. It's outrageous! Going to a play will be like going to the airport."

"They already do that at concerts and many conventions," Kate points out. "Witnesses and jurors can't even get into the courthouse without going through metal detectors. Some schools have even installed them. It's a dangerous world, Martha. We're out there fighting every day, but sometimes it seems like a losing battle."

"Mother, you can't let it get to you," Rick advises. "Even with the security in place, you and your colleagues are there to create moments of joy, inspiration, insight, and just plain fun. In these times, that's more important than ever."

Kate puts a hand on Martha's shoulder. "Rick is right. People need hope, and something they can grab onto that shouts the wonderful things about the city, not the tragic ones."

"That's true, Katherine," Martha agrees. "Whatever the obstacles, the show must go on. I need to go to rehearsal. We're adapting to a new set up. But will you let me know if you hear anything?"

"Of course," Kate assures her.

"You really don't know anything?" Rick asks after Martha's departed.

"Rumors, whispers, people talk. There's one story that the bomber sent a manifesto to the Ledger, and rather than printing it right away, the editor turned it over to the FBI. If that's true, their labs will test for fingerprints, explosive residue, DNA, anything they can find. They'll be doing the same thing with any bomb fragments they could recover, but the heat was so extreme it would have destroyed most evidence. If they got lucky, they might have found something that was blown clear in the explosion - but it's a longshot."

"If this nutbar put out a manifesto, couldn't he also be posting to chatrooms or forums? When I first got online, I was in chatrooms a lot. Some of the people in them can be really out there."

"You have a point, Babe. The N.Y.P.D. has started looking into that kind of thing. I think the FBI and the intelligence agencies may have been on it for a while, but I doubt they have the personnel to handle the volume."

"Probably not," Rick agrees. "Look at the warnings the commission found that intelligence agencies missed for 9/11- and they knew terrorists were looking at using aircraft to attack. I wonder if they could use an extra pair of eyes with an understanding of the darker parts of the human soul."

"I don't know Babe, but if you have an idea of what to look for, it can't hurt. Tips from citizens can put the FBI on the right track. Hell, they had 100 people searching in the wrong state when the Unabomber was turned in by his own brother."

"Alexis is almost finished with her antibiotics, and her fever is gone, but right now I'm terrified to send her back to school. She's got at least one gay teacher that I know of and a bomb could come into the building via a shipment of books or volleyballs or even some kid's backpack left unattended. The state this city is in right now; doing anything is better than doing nothing. We need to end this."

Kate cradles his face in her hands. "I hear you. As good as you've been at tracking down clues so far, you might get lucky. Try whatever you can."


As his computer screen blurs in front of him, Rick swipes a hand over his eyes. It seems like he's been waiting for something to pop out at him forever. Years back, when he first started exploring online, with a primitive dial-up connection through AOL, chatrooms were a curiosity. They were also annoying. There were people with the same geeky interests he held and also disrupters who did nothing but put out nonsense or garbage. He got better at sorting through trash, but as his options grew, the types of messages he encountered expanded with both kindness and maliciousness. If anything, the increase in fascinating ideas has also come with a rise in toxicity. Up until now, he's done his best to avoid the latter. Actively seeking it out is disturbing and sickening.

It isn't difficult to find bigotry, concerning gender orientation or anything else. And some jerks hate anyone who doesn't walk, talk, look, and believe the way they do. Rick can't imagine a more boring existence or one more destructive to the spirit. Thinking about it spiritually is ironic. Some of the worst venom is spouted by those professing a pipeline to the Almighty. As far as Rick's concerned, their beliefs originate from the other direction, but their online homes seem to be where the most intense sentiment prevails. He swallows the acid rising in his throat as he scans through the postings.

Most of them are just expressions of hatred, often justified by passages from religious scriptures of one kind or another. A few of them actually propose some sort of action such as beating up gays or in some cases lynching them. Of the killers Rick has studied for his books, there's been a difference between those who enjoy the hands-on violence of delivering blows in person and those who stay in the background with poison or bombs. He suspects he is seeking the second type.

He checks his watch. Kate will be home soon, and he hasn't been near the kitchen since she left except to nuke some chicken noodle soup for Alexis. His own appetite has diminished with every keystroke. But Kate's been prowling the streets all day and is probably hungry. He should make an effort to put something together for her.

He's about to sign off when a new posting catches his eye. "Holy fire sending damned souls to the flames of hell." Oh, Lord! A loving god would have nothing to do with this. The entry goes on citing "Leviticus 18:22 and Romans 6:23."

Rick grabs a Bible from a shelf in his office, but he's pretty sure what he's going to find: "You shall not lie with a male as a woman; it is an abomination," and "for the wages of sin is death."

The poster identifies himself as "Refiner's Fire." There's got to be some way to track him down. He's hoping that Kate will know.


Mochlin George regards his screen with satisfaction. The voice had reminded him of 2 Timothy 3:16, "Every scripture is divinely inspired, and profitable for teaching, for conviction, for correction, for instruction in righteousness." Mochlin has passed on the teaching and continues his correction as God wills.